


Sensory mesh interlay

by Nilysil (Vuetyris)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Electronic interlay - Freeform, Masturbation, Other, Reader-Insert, Remote limb control - Freeform, Sensory Manipulation, Sensory merger - Freeform, genderless reader, reader choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vuetyris/pseuds/Nilysil
Summary: The almighty still sits in trajectory - Rasputin the last hope to divert its collision course.Within a bunker sits the warmind's satellite hub, an easy access point to collect much needed data to connect back to the main network. But, there's only so much that can be collected through distant Warsats, by information carried by indirect means - there belies a need for direct observation, for direct raw data to keep pace and divert the Almighty.There requires trust - to mesh connection to a hosting body.-Written with trans and nb readers in mind!-
Relationships: Rasputin/Reader
Kudos: 35





	1. Initiate

**Author's Note:**

> -+- Kudos, sharing, and comments are encouraged! -+-
> 
> This is a [Reader's Choice] fic, written with trans and nb readers in mind - not catered to a cis audience. There's two options to continue after the first chapter - either vaginal or phallic, the events remain the same.

Heavy boots track from unsettled soil to the rustic grind, where the heave of the old hydraulics loom overhead as gauntlets are shuffled, adjusted in their snug embrace as step for step you begin the descent. Vex milk still clings to the metallic glint as the sun hangs low in the side, barely peaking through the crags that edge the stream just above. Omniscient fluorescence blooms above as a call is caught in the ghost’s communications, relayed through into neural sensors.

Harsh Russian; Rasputin, translated to universal. “ _You return, _” a partial remark.__

____

____

“As usual,” exasperates between metal teeth and carbon-fiber jowls, features caught in mild annoyance recounting over the prior assignments that sit ready to claim. Objectives to expand the warmind’s own vast catalog of assailants in hopeful return they’ll play nice – to make a target of the Almighty still set on a drifting collision course. With a slight handwave, the assignments are banked as boots meet rusted grating, where the stench of moss and oxidized metals meets the senses before they’re toned down. Just enough to encourage another upgrade for the bunker, another tick on the electronic pin-board of the list the warmind wants of the satellite space.

“ _I have another… request,_ ” rumbles through the auditory connection. Rasputin.

Another waiting assignment, it can be assumed.

Brushing aside the drifting waif of hanging moss, you hold back a fussing temper as the last six hours have been spent clearing space for the warmind’s diagnostics. “What would it be,” is held with a leveled cadence, ducking beneath the half-stuck bulkhead. “Should have enough to clear one of those major upgrades,” speaks beneath a sigh, adjusting your weaponry as righting to stand tall. Raw concrete resigns stained as steps continue over the tossed stone and grated walkway, resounding below as shadows dance above.

“ _A private audience,_ ” and a spot of silence lingers between for a moment – steps paused. “ _Alone._ ”

Arriving to the final descent to the seraph bunker proper, the guards once posted amongst the warmind’s satellite station wait just above the lift. Their bare mechanics shimmer in the low light as you look between them and the slope down to where Rasputin’s sentience resides – Alone.

You can feel the warmind’s presence tickling in the hind of your processes, observed by the very guards that stand so nonchalant on either side of the bared lift that hues blue at the base. A hesitation – hesitation brought by the odd request as the ghost still wavers above shoulder; they give a slight look, returned just as such before another step is made – furthering the descent into the warmind’s sullen chamber. A curiosity that settles as boots meet platform, sliding back to a full feature stand as the click of metal follows your trace contact.

“ _Warden,_ ” Rasputin’s voice bellows through the speakers before you within the bunker chamber as the screens bloom into glow. Data lines fragmenting as steps make the distant approach. “ _You are not alone,_ ” his voice surges, resounded as auditory Russian and translation interfere within cortex processes. It interlaces with the electronic surges of the circuitry as it attunes to you, baring down and encompassing you within the multifaceted sights.

“But I am alone,” you speak at first, tuning yourself into old Russian, “ _I am alone, Rasputin._ ” Humble, uncertain to what extent the warmind means.

“ _The gardener’s sight still lingers, warden; your companion._ ”

Hovering to the side still lingers your ghost, quizzically as they’re unable to understand the conversation taking place – stuck in their monolingual establishment and unaware they’ve become the center of attention. Looking to them, acknowledging them – you assure them you’ll be okay, that it shouldn’t take too long to tend to whatever conversation the warmind has at hand. You wave your hand for a rightful departure; to linger on standby to an inactive presence to appease Rasputin. He’s called the traveler the ‘gardener’, guardian as ‘warden’. It piques interest as no other has spoken as such, walking towards the chandelier of monitors that lace visual representation of data. “ _I am alone, Rasputin,_ ” your hand fiddles at side, interlacing with armory as you await whichever request still awaits.

Taking a glance back, the warmind’s guards remain departed.

“ _I present a choice, Warden,_ ” the warmind booms before you, geometric shapes striating as Rasputin’s voice echoes in the surrounding silence, transplanted onto the monitor screens. “ _There are things limited to my observation, that my warsats are unable to detect on their own. Would you be willing to expand my sight?_ ”

As though the assignments haven’t done so already; you stand quizzical, exhaling through mechanical mockery lungs, watching the displays. “ _Is my work not enough?_ ” Slight concern waivers, where a slight pang of frustration threatens to expound. “ _It’s not all too difficult to set up a communication line. Certainly, you don’t require a private talk for such a request?_ ”

“ _It is not a question of communication, warden._ ” The warmind pauses, the words drifting amongst the reverb of metal. “ _I require untampered data, vision of activity on the field, sight and senses recorded. A benign process… observing passive. Unspecific._ ”

Confused – haven’t that what the assignments been for? Systems whirl within your chest in the presence of the enigmatic machine’s so very careful request. For something so specifically different from the directed assignments that have plagued time and energy for the warmind’s catalog database. Not something based on kill counts or specific scavenged resources; perhaps? Words fumble through cortex processes, trying to answer silent questions. “ _You want to see it from the front lines…?_ ” Electric nerves temper as you linger beneath the glow of the warmind’s screens, looking between it and the sole exit from the chamber. A quandary lingers within your chest, is there really a choice to this? “ _And if I say no…?_ ” asks in overt hesitation, fingers fiddling against the sigh of your primary.

“ _If you decide not, you can return your companion,_ ” the systems sit hushed, systemic crackles the per usual as processes return a routine transferal to the warmind’s physical form. “ _It will be merely a proxy,_ ” bluntly states, the voice swelling in the electronics, “ _if choose not, then all will be as usual._ ”

Brows furrow; how far would the warmind wager to see… how much could it be trusted to make such an overt request…? You look between the multitude of screens and the fresh waypoint that is soon sent over your open connection – curiosity sits hankered, overpowering the slight of worry that prickles within cautious sensors.

The warmind sits patient… watching.

Taking a turn towards one heel, you wander down the central platform to one of the console panels. It directs towards a subroutine panel just beneath the blocky computing surface, structured after pre-traveler technology that dominates the warmind’s architecture design with geometric influences. Not yet open as gloved palm traces along the surface, brushing aside the cling of dust to uncover the delicate machinery that sits beneath.

A palm-shaped indent surfaces as the slide clicks open – you can’t remember the last time you used one of this protocol; a wrist connector only suited for exos. Pulling a glove from your hand, fingers flex, easing towards the panel as the port jack sits holstered. Awaiting the familiar sting. “I agree to the request,” full confirmation.

“ _Acknowledged, we can converse… in private,_ ” the warmind whispers into neural connections as the port connections hones into the jack settled just at the hem of your wrist, between the joints that make the motion gestures of fingers as a brief overwhelm causes them to curl against the surface. You can feel yourself sigh as the warmth grows amongst your circuits, grip firmly settled against knee and metal as the warmind begins to affirm the connection from his enigmatic conduit and your much smaller body; an immensity held halt against the limited senses as it becomes a struggle to remain form. It’s a pressure that exerts on your joints as the electronic packet is transferred between the bunker computing and electronic neurology.

**> I apologize, warden.** Rasputin bellows inside your thought, easing a shift as thoughts strum inline with the reverbs that trace through electric nerves and metal spine. **I have mitigated my transfer rate; this should be easier on your subsystems.**

Fuck; all the thoughts you can manage as optics remain in an unfocused hazard. Breathing deep, sensors scour through the sudden emptiness left by the warmind’s sudden reduction. Their mere presence within your circuitry was immense – a sudden bolster of sensations never felt before, left confused, intrigued by the sensation. Yet, wanting it even more with the absence

**The direct connection isn’t stable, Warden** ; the warmind speaks through you again, voice creasing up electric spine, easing out a sigh from softened restraint. Felt against wrist, you can feel the jack wiggle between joints – so very much old. **A mere packet proxy, to better suit a wireless bulk connection.**

You nod; nerves still returning from the whiplash as once more senses become grounded to the dust and old decay – kicking a chair out of the way to better prop into a casual sit instead of a kneel.

It doesn’t take much longer for the initial transference to finalize – and Rasputin disengages the connection; still within thoughts as the computer becomes a rest at your back. **It will take some time to complete, warden,** Rasputin warns within electronic cortex, almost dancing up your spine as the wireless connection is eased open; left for the warmind to finalize the confirmation connection. **Rest** , almost sighs.

The same swarm presses again within thoughts and mind, easing a staggering sigh as the sudden swell of the warmind’s consciousness blooms against the narrowed connection, brought into exhilaration as the connection is coaxed back to settled stability – all catered to by Rasputin as you relax against the golden age tech. It pulsates through lungs and tender mechanical heart, head pressing back as sensors dance along spine to adhere to the warmind’s connection, delivering packages that meld senses all to collect in one smooth seamless future transferal. It centers all attention down into your body, your senses; a pinpointed interest as the very circuit boards and wires are brought into a buzz in adrenaline.

It brings a slight smirk, a dry laugh as the rewiring teases through your body.

**Comfortable, warden?**

"As best I can be," partly laughs, "fuck," snarls between plate teeth, jowls courses towards a harsh grind as body sinks against the internal dance, back moved to arch as nerves are assessed by the warmind's logistics. They sit tempered as the presence of the mass conscious draws attention back into center - a gasp, cognitive functions are relieved of attention.

**Do you trust the gardener, warden?**

A light prodding question; made easily as the connection resumes - a whispering diagnostic exam. "Neutral," sighs as the warmind's sensory data meshes with your own. An ease made muscle to muscle; faint senses massaged by Rasputin's attention.

**So, it seems,** the warmind's voice reverbs through joints and jowls, almost meshing with your voice box as it's met with a half labor breath. **I better wish to...observe the gardener, and how much it may influence you wardens. Only so much can be read from my Warsats.**

Fair enough, you hazard a sigh, too enamored by the warmind's interlace to protest the opposing view, careless about the politics of the situation. Traveler, Almighty, Warmind; there was a clear adversary and Rasputin was the sole chance of bringing it down. "How much longer?" A hand reaches to pants - adjusting.

A spiteful laugh - can't believe it's driven your libido into high gear. Overloading energetic subsystem processes into alert; light dancing through digit grip.

**Full systemic scan - complete. Full body diagnostics - complete. Complete sensory installation preface in progress** -

A spark finally dances into attention - will it be constantly watching…? "Constant surveillance?"

**Negative for inbound sensory mesh retrieval - geolocational data, constant. Others, optional… primarily through request.**

Just a mild comfort – feeling as your systems are again taken and directed by the warmind’s narrowed consciousness. It bleeds through primary and secondary sensory units, dancing nerves alight as the heave of armor and cloth is felt with ever slighted movement over the self-regulated cooling system, the beads of heat that plays over delicate carbon fiber skin. Hands press firmly against the dusted floor, a thumb hitches up against pants, a slight gasp sits announced before bitten back – head reclining back into an arch.

**If it's uncomfortable, I will retract.**

“No it’s –” slights a smile, a laugh, “it’s fine.”

Insatiable warm pools as whispers of energetic light dances over armor and cloth, reverberates through skeletal structure, vibrating in a tidal flow that follows the invasive directives. Writhing back against the console as the transferal of data continues, a renouncement of restraint wedges free through voice box and motions – fighting back to keep hand from pants, boots pressing firmly at the floor as the templating desire continues to build unsatisfied. To undo belt, take care of self just there and then, to indulge in the wanton light-fueled heat beneath the sights of the warmind.

Uncovered hand grips against jaws, holding against a sizzling gasp as the weight of Rasputin’s presence filters down within your body in a stream of sensations – settling like sleet of winter snow.

Checking into your diagnostics – it fills terabytes – several more than the last routine check.

**May I install the process, warden? You seem otherwise… preoccupied.**

Thumb hitches again back into pants, digits digging against the buckle. “Go ahead,” partials a laugh, giving in, “just… don’t mind me.” The desire to give in sinks; fuck, it needs satisfied.

**… acknowledged – continue as you wish, warden, for it may ease the process.**

There’s a shifting smile, partially in confusion and hindered with heated arousal. “You’re watching?”

**Monitoring. Draws operational memory from the installation process, yet provides a distraction.**

A brief kick roles through cortex and through spine, a tingling of fixations where the warmind’s sensors adhere in full – and hands are quick to undo pants, fighting them down to free space with a halved grin. Not giving a damn, sinking against hand as it finally contacts the sensational heat. “Finally,” breathes with a sigh, reclining and letting legs fall lax.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portion for readers wanting the vaginal option!

A selfish modification, not that you much give a damn as the flow of processes wave through spine and into fingertips, gripping down against groin as muscles twitch beneath the feverous touch. Fingers divide over you, holding against skin as the hand still laden with glove fights pants further free, tugging them down over hips and thigh, lifting just enough to let it slip between the floor and your backside. Pants bundle carelessly over thighs and knees, a hand digging against stomach beneath the grip of armor as sights stare downwards, watching with half-laid sight to the grip as fingers spread over groin.

And fingers dig between folds as pelvic floor twitches, not at all surprised by the lubrication already facilitating the ease of attention you so begin to grant. Inwards, against, fingers spread over the gentle twitch of the clitoral glans, spreading upwards the hood before sinking back inwards, releasing a fevered groan as light flickers over body and palm. Warmth cascades over lips and inwards to a drawn clench, digits drawn into a spread as back lies against the floor – pushing self downwards as the active sounds take place of dominant breath. “Fuck,” growls between teeth, eyes drawn tight as saturated fingers spread backwards over body – baring yourself to the open air as the metal floor holds your backside.

Why the fuck does it feel so hot.

Hand dives upwards into clothing, carelessly tossing aside the harsh grip of armor as the motions of desire takes primary processing – kicking aside boots as pants still hold legs hostage, hand digging upwards against stomach and chest.

**Slow down.**

Not barked; merely a suggestion that rumbles through circuitry into actions – hands halting to hold selves firmly in place, head sinking back as another pulsation of the warmind’s consciousness blooms through electric nervous mesh. Just enough of a pause that gives Rasputin room to dictate – a thought relayed as eyes draw closed, breathing and attentive for the warmind’s words and rattling voice. “ _Please… talk me through._ ”

He has surveillance over every nerve, ever issue of musculature flex as your body shivers with prefacing anticipation, where muscles within groin twitch as the desire to move is held halt.

Silence… almost unbearable as teeth bite back a guttural distressed groan. Needing.

 **Move slowly** , Rasputin’s voice bares through auditory senses, echoed by the speakers that surround the room in term. **Safety precautions.**

 **In.** And your body complies, spreading amongst lips and saturated junctions. Surrounded by the groinal grip within. **Out.** A sigh rolls through body as digits withdraw themselves, spreading over the twitch of glans and hood. **Repeat, and count.** Clinical in tone – but fuck, anything to keep hearing the hitches of glitches and the overall tone that lies beneath. Back inside, fingers draw self wide as thoughts wander, listening as the warmind counts through the motions, granting reprieve even as the need to rub self out continues to burn with desire.

Slow, controlled, not a moment spared as the time begins a steady increase – not that you much care, jacking off to the overt presence still swarming inside and out. Wet, so very ready to just go to town and buck against whatever presents itself to the arousal laden thoughts.

A moment is spent cursing – never having something safe to rut against.

All you have is your hand.

 **One. Two. Three. Four. Five…** all the way up into twenty seconds of anticipation – movements suppressed as motions are eased to slow not only by your own desire. The warmind’s influence is overt.

And you languish in it; as Rasputin’s words become your voice.

The time count of edging continues upwards into thirty, limbs restrained by the installation process as it continues to adhere to your physiology, to nerves simple and complex. **Steady now** , Rasputin’s words rumble through cortex as head rests back, eyes pressured closed to a groaning sigh. **50 per cent. ******

**Halfway complete.**

Mild irritation traces over thought process, but its easily overwritten as once more you fall into passionate motions, attentive to the arousal still buffered. “Fuck,” groans, “Rasputin,” creaks between teeth, shifting yourself to better recline, legs tenting as energetic light flickers down through your palm, alighting against the sensitives still held at bay.

Delving once more into yourself, counting out with enthused yet exhaustive breath, light dances between skin and folds. Drawing a twitch, a clench, petting over the ache of your hood and glans with an anxious sigh. Palming, pressing, thrusting back within body as breathing heaves for more – motions limited by the warmind’s restraint. Invisible ropes that does little more than boost the excitement that filters through sexual thoughts. Limitations to movements, suppressants to just bust out a quick jerk off session as the installation still adheres the warmind to your body.

Makes you wonder what else Rasputin could do with elective control. After all, he had said observations would be voluntary, and includes remote influence over limbs from as far as you can figure.

An interesting prospect.

Breath hissing through teeth; “ _warmind,_ ” your voice trembles, anticipation, “ _can you, finish me off?_ ”

A test… to see how much Rasputin was willing to take control of yourself, and if you can lock him out.

 **Easily** , the warmind’s voice rattles through your consciousness, **installation is almost complete, 120 seconds estimated completion.**

And, a moment later, your own sensory of your hands are taken from you, isolated from your nervous system as though they have become the warmind’s own.

Watching down, legs drawn into trembles, you can only watch as your own hand takes against you once more. Petting and stroking, drawn against hood and sensitive glans made so much more tender as it feels like its someone else held against it. One holds you exposed to the chill of the bunker air, anticipation drawn to twitch as the other thumbs over your ache, fingers dividing against lips before cupping up inside. Legs are only able to do so much – only able to squeeze and pressure against empty space as though a body sat between them.

And then the sensory laps – drawing a shiver as motions draw upwards. “Fuck,” gasps, teeth held parted as hips strain to buckle, rocking around the sensation your numbed hand continues to give. To grant to the peaking desire.

 **60 seconds** , the warmind rumbles within your thoughts – teasing bastard, you elect to give in, back sinking into an arch as Rasputin still retains control of ligaments. Tending and edging you through as the process continues within cortex and sensitive systems. It bulges your memory processes as all you can indulge in is wanton thoughts, for sexual relief so obviously at the forefront as other processes remain in the background. Carrying your concentration forward as the warmind so delicately tends to your rebounded and aged systems. Filling out room for the elective surveillance, for the ease of processing, clearing out junk data either long forgotten or not at all that important – residual files that can just as easily be rewritten to execute complexities faster than before.

It draws a smile; sweltered of course, as your legs continue to tremble. Hands grasping –

Then, emptiness vacuums through your systems, a sudden shock that draws a gasp.

**Sensory mesh interlaced.**

Once again you can feel your hands upon yourself, holding … eyes drift open as pulse continues to hammer unabated; not finished, body merely pushing the warmind out.

Attentive to try and keep composure, pulling hands away from your body, leveling a sigh. “ _Can you debug, and overclock,_ ” hazards a shiver, “ _I want to see how far you can take this._ ” Hands shift against hip, playful for a moment with a slighted smirk. Or merely, just as explicit as you can state, wanting to see how far the warmind can take your body; intentions more detailed within the silent connected conversation of nervous system. To be held pressed, shoved downwards, senses swarmed with anxious desire; curious to how the warmind might facilitate such penetrated thoughts.

**Let me take your hands, warden. We shall see.**

Little by little, you allow Rasputin to take control of your fingers and palms, easing yourself upwards into a proper sit as they begin to pet. Breathing becomes at ease as the processes force them slowed, the motions just as settled as fingers spread over lips and glans. Soaked by the facilitated lubricant, they ease to a gentle roll as though another set held at your hips – guiding forward into a gentle kneel that straddles the remnants of your pants. The chill of boots presses at the heave of backside; one of your forsaken palms moves back, holding over a cheek as the other thrusts against the clench of walls.

Eyes drifting closed, heat bleeds through your system, light ablaze as the warmind overclocks systems just as easily as it takes to satisfy aggressive desire. It dances over your palms, tickling elemental to draw a shiver as fingers divide self open for nothing as you remain sat propped, knelt on hurried undone pants.

And pressure builds against your walls as the overclocking begins to fade – a granted reward as resistance is fabricated within system calculations. “Ah, yeah,” heaves as hips settle to a shuffle, against the girth that isn’t there, where clenches falter against the warmind’s manipulation of your senses.

Just enough; but there still lies the desire for more.

 **How much do you want, warden.** Rasputin’s voice draws a shiver down your spine.

“All of it,” you quiver. Fuck, you wished to have tried this sooner.

A lucid former fantasy made entirely physical.

**As you so wish.**

Pressure within you heaves a gasp to exclaim, a sensory thrust made as palms are forced to the ground, stabilizing you as the warmind’s control of your nervous system takes precedent. Up and forth, the mimicry of thrusts draws you to twist and squirm, relieving excited moans as your body reactively presses towards the sensation – only to meet clothing folds. Lips are tended to once again as body rolls, lapped by sensory touches as the gentle thrusts continue in earnest.

And, at the mere slightest request as you remain unable to verbally utter – the sensation grows and begins to vibe.

Hips snap against clothing as the sensation begins anew, eyes pressed tight as the desire continues to burn and heave as knuckles dig against floor, gripping for something as head crestfalls. “Rasputin,” you shiver.

MORE.

And so, the warmind provides; delivering a gentle pressure against your rear.

 _Relief_ – you sink against it as hands move to stabilize back. Taken by twice.

The pressure is gentle as it moves pass the customary features you once long forgotten about – too busy to remember the cosmetic upgrade as sensory hands stroke at your glans, as thrusts fill your empty body, as a newfound sensation pushes into your backside to create the duel of sensations. Filling, pressuring, even as there lies nothing between your legs save for the excited mess and the forsaken pants that will need to be cleared of the mess. “Yeah,” quivers, a whisper, “more,” insatiable.

It grows inside you, filling ever more and more as legs are drawn to tremble. Where the phantom sensation is amplified as the thrust and strokes are matched with the pace, so very well timed as you just INDULGE in the attention as hips are drawn to buckle, to thrust against the feeling of being taken so skillfully even as nothing prevents it to cease. Just a simple denial command would push the warmind out of your system, leave you empty as a vacuum and at odds with finishing self in such a routine manner.

No; wanting to be left exhausted.

“ _Please,_ ” you teeter at the edge, buckling as senses burn, “ _MORE._ ”

And Rasputin’s omniscient presence holds your body in place. **Breathe.**

Holding back, forced into trembles; you exhale.

Body spent.

It takes a moment to finally come to your senses as the intoxication of relief still tingles through your system. The echo of the sensation still filters through the emptiness that remains, the warmind booted from within as your hands remain wrung into the hem of your pants. Spots of orgasm continues to soak down beneath as you fight to regain sentient control of your limbs, to push self to a more relaxed pose with a sigh. A hand does dive down against body – where the echo of the pressure remains as the muscles sit loose. A smirk, a smile, and a hearty exhale.

There’s a couple minutes spent in a daze before everything finally clicks back into place; able to move back to a comfortable sit, cleaning yourself of the orgasmic mess as the warmind has since returned to tending to their network. A quick exhilarated session for you … tending to your systems to satisfy a social bond is about as close as you can guestimate for the warmind. But, to spend energy trying to piece apart the old tech is energy otherwise well spent on clearing the next objective – and with pants secured back into place, gear checked once more, you’re ready to head back to the grind. The memory of what transpired sat in the back of your mind.

 **Warden.** The warmind speaks within your thoughts – the maximum amount you allow. **Warsats orbiting the Almighty – collision would not change trajectory. I require intrusive mapping of Cabal systems.** There’s a brief feather touch over your hand – where Rasputin could direct remote control. **I will require sight of the system mapping and direct upload.**

Without you, Rasputin could do little more than bitesize data.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portion for readers wanting the phallic option!

A selfish modification, not that you much give a damn as the flow of processes wave through spine and into fingertips, gripping down against groin as muscles twitch beneath the feverous touch. Fingers divide over you, holding against skin as the hand still laden with glove fights pants further free, tugging them down over hips and thigh, lifting just enough to let it slip between the floor and your backside. Pants bundle carelessly over thighs and knees, a hand digging against stomach beneath the grip of armor as sights stare downwards, watching with half-laid sight to the grip as fingers spread over groin.

And a grip takes hold around the pressured heat, twitching within palm as fingers hold with a cautious grip. Erect, you can feel coolant blood pulse against hand as motions draw directive; jerking, holding, droning down against sack to make an attentive grip that signals out a sigh, a prelude to a fevered groan as light flickers over body and palm. Warmth cascades through stomach and into attentive shaft, aching as digits hold around once more, pushing self back against the console as halved grunts take the primary sound in the secluded space alongside dominant breaths. “Fuck,” growls between teeth, eyes drawn tight as your hand just holds at base with unsettled desire – baring self to the open air as metal floor holds your backside.

It feels so fucking hot.

Hand dives upwards into clothing as processes fuss between half clothed, carelessly tossing aside the harsh grip of armor – kicking off boots as pants still hold legs hostage, jerking yourself through as gloved palm grips against ribs.

**Slow down.**

Not barked; merely a suggestion that rumbles through circuitry into actions – hands halting to hold selves firmly in place, head sinking back as another pulsation of the warmind’s consciousness blooms through electric nervous mesh. Just enough of a pause that gives Rasputin room to dictate – a thought relayed as eyes draw closed, breathing and attentive for the warmind’s words and rattling voice. “ _Please… talk me through._ ”

He has surveillance over every nerve, ever issue of musculature flex as your body shivers with prefacing anticipation, where muscles within groin twitch as the desire to move is held halt.

Silence… almost unbearable as teeth bite back a guttural distressed groan. Needing.

 **Move slowly** , Rasputin’s voice bares through auditory senses, echoed by the speakers that surround the room in term. **Safety precautions.**

 **Up**. And your body complies, knuckles following up shaft and around the stern twitch of sensitive glans, holding yourself even as anticipation draws another sensitive twitch. **Back.** And a sigh rolls through body as digits retract and relax down towards base once more, fingers resting over warm sack with a mild groan. **Repeat, and count.** Clinical in tone – but fuck, anything to keep hearing the hitches of glitches, the overt tone that lies beneath. Back around glans, fingers dance and press around the sensitive bundling of nerves. Thoughts wander, listening as the warmind counts through the motions, granting reprieve even as the need to bury self continues to burn with desire.

Slow, controlled jacking continues as not a moment is spared as the time begins a steady increase – not that you much care, jerking self off to the overt presence that still swarms your senses. Firm, so very ready to just buck against whatever desire drawn by arousal laden thoughts.

A moment is spent cursing – jacking off about the best you can do.

All you have is your hand.

 **One. Two. Three. Four. Five…** all the way up into twenty seconds of anticipation – movements suppressed as motions are eased to slow not only by your own desire. The warmind’s influence is overt.

And you languish in it; as Rasputin’s words become your voice.

The time count of edging continues upwards into thirty, limbs restrained by the installation process as it continues to adhere to your physiology, to nerves simple and complex. **Steady now** , Rasputin’s words rumble through cortex as head rests back, eyes pressured closed to a groaning sigh. **50 per cent. ******

**Halfway complete.**

Mild irritation traces over thought process, but its easily overwritten as once more you fall into passionate motions, attentive to the arousal still buffered. “Fuck,” groans, “Rasputin,” creaks between teeth, shifting yourself to better recline, legs tenting as energetic light flickers down through your palm, alighting against the sensitives still held at bay.

Drawing once more around yourself, counting out with enthused yet exhaustive breath, light dances over girth and base. Drawing a twitch, a clench of balls, sinking down to hold the ache of sack and base with an anxious sigh. Cradling, holding, jerking back over self as breathing heaves for more – motions limited by the warmind’s restraint. Invisible ropes that does little more than boost the excitement that filters through sexual thoughts. Limitations to movements, suppressants to just bust a nut with a quick jerk off session as the installation still adheres the warmind to your body.

Makes you wonder what else Rasputin could do with elective control. After all, he had said observations would be voluntary, and includes remote influence over limbs from as far as you can figure.

An interesting prospect.

Breath hissing through teeth; “ _warmind,_ ” your voice trembles, anticipation, “ _can you, finish me off?_ ”

A test… to see how much Rasputin was willing to take control of yourself, and if you can lock him out.

 **Easily** , the warmind’s voice rattles through your consciousness, **installation is almost complete, 120 seconds estimated completion.**

And, a moment later, your own sensory of your hands are taken from you, isolated from your nervous system as though they have become the warmind’s own.

Watching down, legs drafted to tremble, you can only watch as your own hand takes against you once more. Petting and stroking, drawn against shaft and glans made so much more tender as it feels like its someone else held around it. One holds you perked to the chill of the bunker air, anticipation drawn to twitch as a cradle is made for your balls, massaging as knuckles draw slowly upwards before wrist rolls it back down. Legs are only able to do so much – only able to squeeze and pressure against empty space as though a body sat between them.

And then a sensory kiss – drawing a shiver as senses dance downwards. “Fuck,” gasps, teeth held parted as hips strain to buckle, rocking around the sensation as your numbed hand continues to give. To grand to the peaking desire.

 **60 seconds** , the warmind rumbles within your thoughts – teasing bastard, you elect to give in, back sinking into an arch as Rasputin still retains control of ligaments. Tending and edging you through as the process continues within cortex and sensitive systems. It bulges your memory processes as all you can indulge in is wanton thoughts, for sexual relief so obviously at the forefront as other processes remain in the background. Carrying your concentration forward as the warmind so delicately tends to your rebounded and aged systems. Filling out room for the elective surveillance, for the ease of processing, clearing out junk data either long forgotten or not at all that important – residual files that can just as easily be rewritten to execute complexities faster than before.

It draws a smile; sweltered of course, as your legs continue to tremble. Hands grasping –

Then, emptiness vacuums through your systems, a sudden shock that draws a gasp.

**Sensory mesh interlaced.**

Once again you can feel your hands upon yourself, holding … eyes drift open as pulse continues to hammer unabated; not finished, body merely pushing the warmind out.

Attentive to try and keep composure, pulling hands away from your body, leveling a sigh. “ _Can you debug, and overclock,_ ” hazards a shiver, “ _I want to see how far you can take this._ ” Hands shift against hip, playful for a moment with a slighted smirk. Or merely, just as explicit as you can state, wanting to see how far the warmind can take your body; intentions more detailed within the silent connected conversation of nervous system. To be held pressed, shoved downwards, senses swarmed with anxious desire; curious to how the warmind might facilitate such penetrated thoughts.

**Let me take your hands, warden. We shall see.**

Little by little, you allow Rasputin to take control of your fingers and palms, easing yourself upwards into a proper sit as they begin to draw. Breathing becomes at ease as the processes force them slowed, the motions just as settled as knuckles hold over girth and sack. Eagerness remarks in the bead of precum that now begins to spread within palm, and eased into gentle thrusts as though other palms settle at your hips – guided forward into a gentle kneel that straddles the remnants of your pants. The chill of boots press at the heave of backside; one of your forsaken palms moves back, holding over a cheek as the other jerks yourself through.

Eyes drifting closed, heat bleeds through your system, light ablaze as the warmind overclocks systems just as easily as it takes to satisfy aggressive desire. It dances over your palms, tickling elemental to draw a shiver as palm settles at base, holding perk for nothing as you remain sat propped, knelt on hurried undone pants.

And the phantom of a wet hold swarms around you as the overclocking begins to fade – a granted reward as the sensation is fabricated within system calculations. “Ah, yes,” heaves as hips settle to a shuffle, against the penetration that isn’t there, where twitches falter against the warmind’s manipulation of your senses.

Just enough; but there still lies the desire for more.

 **How much do you want, warden.** Rasputin’s voice draws a shiver down your spine.

“All of it,” you quiver. Fuck, you wished to have tried this sooner.

A lucid former fantasy made entirely physical.

**As you so wish.**

Pressure around you heaves a gasp to exclaim, a sensory thrust around as palms are forced to the ground, stabilizing you as the warmind’s control of your nervous system takes precedent. Turning over and held around, the thrusts draw you to twist and squirm, relieving excited moans as your body reactively bucks against the squeezing sensation – only to meet clothing folds. Texture tends to tender skin as body rolls, cradled by sensory touches as the gentle thrust continue in earnest.

And, at the mere slightest request as you remain unable to verbally utter – the sensation goes firm, and a vibration swarms.

Hips snap against clothing as the sensation begins anew, eyes pressed tight as the desire continues to burn and heave as knuckles dig against floor, gripping for something as head crestfalls. “Rasputin,” you shiver.

MORE.

And so, the warmind provides; delivering a gentle pressure against your rear.

 _Relief_ – you sink against it as hands move to stabilize back. Taken by twice.

The pressure is gentle as it moves pass the customary features you once long forgotten about – too busy to remember the cosmetic upgrade as sensory hands cradle your body, as jerks vibrate around your girth, as the newfound sensation pushes into your backside to create the filling sensation. Comforting, pressuring, even as there lies nothing between your legs save for the forsaken pants that will need to be cleared of the mess. “Yeah,” quivers, a whisper, “more,” insatiable.

It grows inside you, filling ever more and more as legs are drawn to tremble. Where the phantom sensation is amplified as the thrust and strokes are matched with the pace, so very well timed as you just INDULGE in the attention as hips are drawn to buckle, to thrust against the feeling of being taken so skillfully even as nothing prevents it to cease. Just a simple denial command would push the warmind out of your system, leave you empty as a vacuum and at odds with finishing self in such a routine manner.

No; wanting to be left exhausted.

“ _Please,_ ” you teeter at the edge, buckling as senses burn, “ _MORE._ ”

And Rasputin’s omniscient presence holds your body in place. **Breathe.**

Holding back, forced into trembles; you exhale.

Body spent.

It takes a moment to finally come to your senses as the intoxication of relief still tingles through your system. The echo of the sensation still filters through the emptiness that remains, the warmind booted from within as your hands remain wrung into the hem of your pants. Excited ejaculate spots before you, spots marking down between settled thighs and sparing most of your pants as you fight to regain sentient control of your limbs, to push self to a more relaxed pose with a sigh. A hand does dive down against body – where the sensitive twitches remain. A smirk, a smile, and a hearty exhale.

There’s a couple minutes spent in a daze before everything finally clicks back into place; able to move back to a comfortable sit, cleaning yourself of the orgasmic mess as the warmind has since returned to tending to their network. A quick exhilarated session for you … tending to your systems to satisfy a social bond is about as close as you can guestimate for the warmind. But, to spend energy trying to piece apart the old tech is energy otherwise well spent on clearing the next objective – and with pants secured back into place, gear checked once more, you’re ready to head back to the grind. The memory of what transpired sat in the back of your mind.

 **Warden.** The warmind speaks within your thoughts – the maximum amount you allow. **Warsats orbiting the Almighty – collision would not change trajectory. I require intrusive mapping of Cabal systems.** There’s a brief feather touch over your hand – where Rasputin could direct remote control. **I will require sight of the system mapping and direct upload.**

Without you, Rasputin could do little more than bitesize data.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially planned back during the release of Warmind, got pushed to the backburner due to having too many plans. Written and finished now to align with Season of the Worthy events.


End file.
